


An Arms Race

by Lightspeed



Category: Team Fortress 2
Genre: Blow Jobs, Bondage, Humiliation, M/M, Masturbation, Rape, Weapons Kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-01
Updated: 2013-07-01
Packaged: 2017-12-16 20:01:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,165
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/866044
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lightspeed/pseuds/Lightspeed
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Captured by the RED Sniper, BLU Medic is forced to endure a very specific form of retaliation, assisted by the smooth barrel of the Sniper’s rifle.</p>
            </blockquote>





	An Arms Race

“Come on, Doc. It's not like you ain't used to something long and hard between your lips.”

Medic quaked in his bonds, harsh hemp rope tight around his wrists and ankles, sitting on his knees. Cold metal pressed against his pursed lips, his eyes wide, full of fear as he looked down the barrel of the sniper rifle, up at the smirking Australian holding it. Sweat began to prickle at his hairline, his heart churning, racing, red-lining in his chest. He could hear his blood in his ears, the sound of his mind churning to process his predicament in the face of anus-clenching terror.

The RED Sniper nudged the doctor's lips again with the barrel of his rifle, the smooth metal tube lacking any iron sight to mar the perfect cylinder that assailed him. He licked his lips, biting at the lower in anticipation. He had his catch, his quarry, and was determined to humiliate him. Long after the match had ended, long after the humiliation round had passed, after the respawn system had been shut down for the night, he had awakened his prisoner in the quiet and privacy of his team's battlement. The grey shadows of dusk stretched through the doors, the orange flames of the sun smoldering on the horizon, taunting Medic as it fled, leaving the doctor alone with his captor.

“It's simple. You know how to suck, right? You just purse your lips and--” Sniper was cut off as the trembling Teuton slowly opened his mouth, and took the end of his rifle between his lips, his eyes sliding closed as he went to work. Further, further, the barrel slid into the warm embrace of Medic's mouth, and he watched the man's face contort as his tongue went to work. He was skilled and experienced, just as Sniper had thought. He felt his slacks growing tight, his breath quickening as he watched Medic work.

The gun tasted of oil and fire, tinged with gunpowder, of carbon. It was repellant to the doctor's tongue, but he feared the loss of his life far more than he feared any foul flavours. The mental image of his skull in pieces, his brains splattered on the far wall behind him did nothing to quell the shaking of his whole fragile form, his tongue laving across the underside of the barrel urgently. What sick thrill did Sniper get from this? He couldn't feel it; why did he want it? Medic took a deep breath through his nose and tried to imagine that instead of the rifle in his mouth, he was instead lavishing attention on his beloved Heavy, his warm, firm cock between the doctor's eager lips. He imagined the musky scent of Heavy's arousal, the soft moans that would escape the jubilant giant.

Sniper's chuckling roused him from his reverie. Blue eyes fluttered open to see the Australian, red-faced, leering over him, bad intent written across his features. “You do that real nice, Doc. Like a real professional. Bet the fat man loves you, don't 'e?”

Medic's furrowed brow was the only response he could give.

“Bet 'e loves that hot mouth. Those big hands. That tight arse.” He teased, one hand holding his rifle, braced against his shoulder. His other hand worked on opening his fly, tugging himself from the prison of his trousers, his cock hard and proud in the cool air.

Darting to the sight, Medic's eyes widened, realizing this was more than just humiliation. He did get a sick thrill from this. He was getting off, or at least would, soon. Kneeling there in growing shadow, Medic found himself very glad for the poor light, else Sniper might notice that he, too, was aroused.

“Like what you see? Wonder who's bigger. Mine, or the giant Russian cock you ride?” The assassin's hand began to stroke, tugging at his need as he spoke, watching Medic's jaw working, skillfully fellating his rifle. “Tell me, does 'e fuck you hard? Pin you to the bunk, fill you up 'til you can't breathe, 'til you're screamin', 'til you're begging 'im for more? Does 'e pound you into the wall? Bend you over and take you like a rutting animal? Does 'e bury himself deep in your guts and hold you down with those giant hands of 'is?”

Very glad for the shadows hiding him. Yes. Medic gulped, his face growing more and more flushed, and trying very hard to convince himself it was because he was remembering Heavy doing those very things, and not because Sniper was growling out such filthy things as he touched himself.

“Does 'e hold the back of your head when you do this for him? Grab your hair? Fuck your mouth? Your throat?” The pitch of his questioning, of the snarling dirty talk pouring over his lips grew higher, more tense, rushed. He was nearing his climax, and Medic could tell, picking up his pace on the rifle like he would on a lover nearing orgasm in his mouth.

“Does 'e--” Sniper shuddered, turning to face Medic, stepping closer while holding his rifle steady. “Does 'e do this?” he groaned, shaking as his released pulsed through him, making his knees weak and his arms tremble. The rifle dropped from his hand and out of Medic's mouth as he furiously tugged himself over the doctor's face, coming onto him, painting his cheeks, his nose, his lips and chin. Doubling over, panting, he squeezed the last of his load onto Medic and wiped the tip of his cock on his captive's chin. Stepping back, he tucked himself away and zipped his fly, pulling a bandana out of his pocket to clean his hand up.

Trembling for two very different, very conflicting reasons, Medic recoiled from Sniper as he rose back to full height, looking flushed and sated, yet still so very dangerous. “What are you going to do to me now?”

“I think you've been humiliated enough,” Sniper gloated, smearing some of the come from the doctor's cheek and forcing his finger into Medic's mouth, making him taste the offending fluid. “You're free to go.”

“You are going to untie me?”

“Not even close.”

 

 

 

Heavy swung open the door to the BLU base, shotgun in hand. The loud banging on the metal shutter door had roused the team, and he had been elected to be the welcoming committee. The entire team had been on guard since the disappearance of their doctor.

His eyes went wide in horror as he looked down and saw the parcel left for him. Bound and gagged with blue ribbon, Medic lay naked on the dusty ground, his face speckled with drying semen, his bottom red and covered in hand prints. He looked plaintively up at Heavy, a proud man broken and humiliated. On his side, a note was scrawled in marker:  
 _Dear BLUs,_

_I believe this has us even for the stupid shite your Spy keeps pulling._

_Keep him under control._

_Your Friend,_

_The RED Sniper_


End file.
